


Scribbles on White Paper

by Eirons



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bisexual Keith (Voltron), Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Insecure Lance, Just because Keith never likes girls, M/M, Multi, Pansexual Lance (Voltron), Slow Burn, This is my form of rebellion, artsy keith, half-blind lance, hopeless lance, klance, poor boi, side ships you won't like lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-02-11 05:32:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12928545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eirons/pseuds/Eirons
Summary: Lance didn't want to end up at Jarre University, he wanted to go to Altea -- the most renown art school in his state. That all ended up being just a dream, leaving Lance depressed and apathetic until he meets up with some people that make him think, "hey, this might work out better than I thought".Then, he runs into Keith.Keith's all he wanted to be. His art is beautiful -- he's beautiful. And he wants nothing to do with Lance. Seemingly, at least.





	1. New Home

**Author's Note:**

> I like the premise of this story and I want to see where I can take it, so I’m posting it to see if other people are interested.
> 
> Don’t know how often I’ll update since I’m working on writing another klance fanfic with my friend [ username zilede on here ] along with many other things , but I hope you enjoy the ride ✰ .

The ticking of the small desk clock by Lance's side stayed consistent as he transitioned from dream to reality.

 

It was a motionless awakening, the only sign of his newly conscious state being the few struggled blinks Lance gave to adjust his eye to the darkness as he stared at the ceiling with sweat running down his back. He continued to listen to the clock -- annoying clock, but better than dead silence. He contemplated his dream in the midst of his idle waking and listening, the empty void of the thought growing in his mind until it was all  **black**.

 

Sitting up made the white tank top sticking to his skin become more obvious and disgusting as he continued to move. Deciding it was -- he glanced at the noisy clock, it read 4:14 AM -- yeah, as good a time as any to go explore the campus, his new home. He didn't bother with changing. No one but stressed, exhausted college students could possibly see him at that time and they had a knack for not remembering anything. He would remember his unhygienic outing though, and he could feel the regular Lance inside him almost screaming for a shower and proper face care. But he wasn't normal Lance right now. He was tired Lance. He simply threw on the army green jacket he'd inherited from his father's hunting days and some jeans, leaving the East Wing dorms to wander over to the edge of the campus where all the shops were. It was also the closest area of campus to its neighboring university, Altea.

 

It was only the first day of real college life, yesterday being the hard " saying goodbye " day were all the unimportant things of his old life were haphazardly thrown into the dorm room -- the empty, plain dorm room -- while the important things rested at home in the dim and dusty attic because of their uselessness to his new life. Tears, hugs, then the effortless start of the car engine as his parents drove off and left him in the entirely foreign city. He didn't want to socialize at all during that first day even though plenty of people were gathering and grouping around him. He didn't like the looks they gave him, the way they looked into his eyes -- into his eye too deeply. It was easy to forget sometimes when you grow up in one place and everyone treats you like you're normal that you do, in fact, have a weirdo eye. He didn't blame anyone for staring, but he did blame them for gawking. It wasn't that bad. Maybe he'd just gotten himself too self-conscious.

 

His new roommate would keep their eyebrows leveled at least. Hopefully. They hadn't come yet -- they were supposed to be coming the day after he'd arrived, but of course not at 4 in the morning. He wasn't sure if he wanted to have to deal with someone in his new sanctuary though. He'd thought the sharing and invasion of personal sleep space would be over once he got out of his children-ridden house. It would be a good distraction from how much he actually missed the terrible messes and yelling caused by the two little rat's running around the house, though, to have another person living with him.

 

He couldn't tell if it was the smell of burning rubber and chemicals, the wafting smell of fast fries on grease, or just the scent of the Earth in the new city, but nonetheless he concluded that he was getting close to his negligible destination. He moved across all the neatly paved walkways and displays of wealth and importance in nature made through the numerous tall trees and flower beds with nameplates pinned at their bases; a scientific name no one cared about engraved below their common names -- a pin oak or some blue bells. He approached a building, the red brick path he walked along splitting around the circular building, and unlike many of the other buildings it loomed over him and everything around like a haunted house with blotches of sparsely scattered, random light in the many large windows like luminescent eyes, the entrance lit and bright, illuminating a path on the ground in front of him to lead Lance right into it's mouth. And he didn't falter as he walked directly into it.

 

The automatic doors slid open smoothly, Lance realizing it was less scary and rather just sad. Every shop or food place at the entrance had it's metal gates closed or their doors shut and locked tight -- acceptably dealt with, Lance felt, with a bunch of new " adults " running around every night like it's 1999. That would be him when he figured out what he was doing with his life. He wasn't put off by the emptiness, instead motivated to continue on by the little light he saw as he moved further into the building. He was surprised the upper floors hadn't been closed off somehow when he got midway through the building to a flight of stairs, but his surprise didn't stop him from going up them. One of the first things he saw a floor up was a tiny shop with white little lights strung across the ceiling working as the only light source. It grabbed his attention, because unlike many of the other shops it had some lights on, but the door was closed, and he'd figured it was locked and started walking past to continue his search when he saw someone hunched over at one of the little round tables.

 

He back-tracked a bit, then pushed open the heavy glass door, noting the clean tiny design on the door that was the only thing to denote that it was a shop at all. It was a little lion with grey, dark fur,  _The Black Lion Café_  printed in equally small golden letters resting under one of the animal's paws. It was charming, almost royal looking.

 

The door chimed, and the person at the table glanced back at Lance with grey-ish eyes widened with surprise.

 

It was a man, deepening Lance's dismay -- it if it was a girl he'd at least have a nice sob story and some tears to introduce her to his sexy sensitive side he just knew was a thing they liked with a heightened chance of getting a phone number. The man had broad shoulders and a small tuft of curls at the front of his head colored silver, the rest of his shaved head a charcoal black. Strong jaw, nice smile. He wasn't that bad either, but Lance hadn't been trained by his uncle in the ways of getting men's numbers -- maybe it was the same.

 

"Hey there. It's really early, I didn't expect anyone to come until at least 6 or 7."

 

"Well, I wouldn't be expecting anyone either."

 

That was the only lame response he could muster, too tired and mopey to try and deal with the intricacies of good conversation which -- he swore up and down -- he was usually very very adequate at.

 

"Had a rough night, kid?"

 

Lance was temporarily put off by the very young, probably not even 2 years older guy calling him a kid. But only very briefly, because in the next moment, Lance saw it in the he way he stood from the dark wooded stool -- his sureness and steadiness compared to Lance's crumpled, sweaty, dark-circled mess of a body -- the realization putting him right back in his place.

 

Instead of a childish outburst to reaffirm his position as a kid or grumbled muttering to show  _him_  what a rough night was under his breath, he took the seat next to the one previously occupied, a small laugh clawing it's way up his throat.

 

"Is that your way of saying I look like shit? Then yeah, rough night."

 

In the dimness of the café, Lance figured his eye wasn't as visibly screwed and was thankful for it. He didn't want to talk about his eye -- there wasn't much of anything to talk about there.

 

He didn't really want to talk at all actually, he kind of just wanted to eat his feelings away from the dark, lonely thoughts that grew out of the dark, lonely room. But talk seemed unavoidable at this point and the man was already tying a polka-dotted apron around his waist and heading for the back room of the shop. A brief, strong laugh like rich chocolate sounded from the back as he refuted the statement. Lance smiled at the clumsy apology that followed for a good minute as he assured Lance that he wasn't laughing at him and he thought he looked fine, I mean he could have put on something other than a tank top -- but hey, that was fine too, he looked alright -- and, no no, he hadn't meant  _bad_  alright, he'd meant  _good_  alright. You know,  _good_  alright. Had he made any sense, Lance wasn't sure but honestly didn't care as the personality of the man stuck on him, distracting and warm.

 

"Anyway," The man finished with a sigh, reappearing from the back with a large bag he placed behind the front counter and a pen in his hand, some stacks of something tucked under his arm.  "What can I get you -- ?"

 

"Lance. What're you selling?"

 

"Glad you asked. Shiro, by the way."

 

He said it in aside as he'd gotten close enough for Lance to see for the first time the name tag pinned to the chest of the apron, silver and in a similar style to the engraved scientific titles of the plants housed on the campus grounds --  _Shiro_  writtenin nice, curved italics. 

 

He pulled one of the something's from under his arm and placed it on the table in front of Lance, a double-sided menu with drinks and their prices stacked on the back and snacks and their worth stacked on the front. Lance held back laughter as he looked over the menu's choices.

 

"Can I get the _Mane_ Caramel Macchiato? No, no, the _Lioness'_ Cherry Lemonade."

 

"What," He seemed genuinely embarrassed, proof of that tinting his cheeks, "You're making fun of the names? You lose your menu privileges." He swiped it out of Lance's hands, Lance grinning and raising his hands in defeat.

 

"Fine, I know what I want already. I'll take a cherry lemonade, please."

 

"Alright."

 

Shiro walked back to the counter and pulled open a cabinet to get some ice, a bunch of cherries, and a bottle of lemon juice, the cherry lemonade being quickly constructed and handed to the eager customer.

 

He'd first planned on getting some dark, bitter coffee to ease him further into his bad mood and early death by stress, but he hadn't kept the same attitude from when he first entered the shop, he somehow felt a little better. A little less lost and alone and hopeless.

 

"So, are you a freshman?" Shiro asked, leaning over the counter with his head resting on his knuckles, facing toward Lance as he took a sip of the lemonade. It was pretty sweet.

 

"Yeah, I'm guessing you go to college around here too? Jarre or," He took another sip, hiding any emotion behind the gulp, "Altea?"

 

Another laugh with a smile. Shiro shook his head slowly, his eagerness to continue with the subject very apparent as he spoke.

 

"No, a school like Altea really doesn't fit me. Going to Jarre, but I actually have a friend going to Altea on a scholarship this year as a freshman, too. Really gifted guy, abstract art and realism and stuff like that is all he talks about. You must know him, I hear he's pretty popular with people in the art classes."

 

No. But he wanted to know him. He wanted to talk about art -- abstract, minimal, street [ a personal favorite of his, though usually in the form of graffiti ]. He wanted someone to talk art to, to express the passion he had for it somehow. Maybe that would help, maybe it would make it all worse.

 

"I've never heard of anyone like that. Who is he?"

 

"His name's Keith, you must not have any classes with him, then."

 

Lance's good mood drained quicker than it had appeared, the 4 AM-induced inhibition-less relationship forming between the two strangers coming to a halt as Lance was reminded of the major regret and sacrifice gnawing at him further than the simple mention of the school would do. It felt like he was being forced to admit his failure now because of the man's assumption. The lemonade had a bitter aftertaste, unpleasantly spreading on the back of his tongue as words formed slowly in reply, the extra effort to talk about what he really hadn't planned on ever bringing up until he graduated causing the conversation to lag uncomfortably.

 

"I don't go to Altea, I go to Jarre, too."

 

"Oh, really?" Shiro didn't seem to pick up on the brief pause and continued on normally as he started to make himself a lemonade, "You look like you're Altean for sure, I'm usually pretty good at guessing which of the two people who come by here are from."

 

"Well, actually..." His chest was heavy, and he decided he really  _didn't_  want to tell the perfect stranger his entire life story. He hadn't brought his phone to acquire any numbers from the sobbing, so he simply stood and placed a $10 bill on the counter in front of Shiro, "Here, thanks for the drink."

 

Shiro looked down at the money, thick brows furrowed as he glanced from the excess money to Lance. He was still manually shaking together the lemonade, hands not ready to protest by counting out change as Lance exited the store and building.

 

 --------------------

 

The walk back to the dorm was quiet and the dorm room was quiet, as he'd left it. It was hard to drown out disappointment and worry when there wasn't even white noise -- oh wait, there it was. The clock. Annoying clock.

 

He took out the batteries, placed them neatly beside the dead device, and slunk his way back into his bed.

 

The clock blinked out 5:02 before it was selfishly deprived of life, meaning that he walked really slowly to and from the store building or spent an ungodly amount of time talking to the hot, friendly sliver haired guy at the cafe. He thought getting up and looking around at all the new stuff college -- Jarre -- had to offer would help him not feel dead inside, but nope. Still pretty dead. Even with the clock gone, he could hear time ticking down like a bomb to 9 when his roommate was supposed to be showing up. He was going to make a bad first impression when the poor guy walked in and realized the blanket wrapped mummy of a college student Lance had devolved into belonged in a sarcophagus, not a dorm room. An exaggerated sigh escaped Lance as he sat up and pulled the tank top over his head, throwing it to the floor. It was dry from his sweat at this point but still disgusting against his skin from the memory of his 4:14 revival. He liked the fact that Jarre had dorms with bathrooms attached and that he was able to nab one such room fairly easily, sharing it with only one adjacent room as opposed to sharing one centrally located bathroom with a whole floor. But he was sure Altea had nicer bathrooms than that, even. Probably one person a room with their own bathroom. That was actually highly unlikely, but it made Lance feel bad for a moment so it was worth the thought.

 

 He kept the door open behind him so the bathroom wouldn't get too hot as he slipped out of the rest of his clothes and hopped in the shower, enjoying the warm first-college-shower experience. The water beating down on him had a cleansing effect on his mind and body, the steam rising around him acting as if it was the fog leaving his head. He remembered the walk to and from his dorm, it was actually nice even with the showy foliage--it was a pretty place with the plants and neatly stoned walkways and benches if you just wanted to sit and be outside. He remembered the glow from the pinched bulbs strung from the small café’s ceiling. He remembered the sweet lemonade on his tongue and the comfortable laugh of the man in the brown dotted apron. He needed to give Jarre a chance, it couldn't be that bad.

 

A distinct click noise came from the direction of his room just as he turned the shower off, and Lance's head slowly peeked from the indent in the wall the shower was placed to stare at the now closed door.

 

"Dammit."

 

 His roommate arrived early. He'd finished at this point and jumped out the shower, shutting it off before grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist. Now, he had to introduce himself while naked and damp since he left his clothes in the dorm room, not bothering to take them out and put them in the bathroom because he did things last minute at least 75% of the time and much preferred walking around with a robe, towel, or nothing on. Staring into the mirror for a moment and deciding it could be worse, he turned the handle of the door and entered back into the room.

 

Other than the coolness assaulting his body from the gust of air coming in from the dorm room's also wide open door -- anyone being able to get a nice glimpse of Lance from the safety of the hallway now -- there was a faint smell of oil and smoke wafting throughout the area. It hadn't occurred to him that it could be someone other than his roommate that entered the room until he saw a girl crouched down in front of the vacant bed across from his. She was wearing a much too large for her orange hoodie, any bottoms she wore being consumed by the oversized garment as she clawed through a duffel bag in front of her, Lance standing semi-mortified behind her. Then strong, fast pressure knocked him from his feet, his towel unraveling and almost falling from his waist as a guy pinned him to the floor of the dorm room. The girl's head flipped back to the shake of the floor and thud of Lance's body hitting the thin carpet.

 

"Pidge, are you alright!?" The guy above Lance said, worried urgency and care in every word he spoke, the sound of it echoing in Lance's head, strangely playing as background noise to the disorientation swamping his senses. He wished he hadn't been so confused that a girl was in his room to look to his left and see someone charging at him, but the guy above him had a soft, unassuming face, and if Lance had seen him approach he wouldn't have suspected a tackle either way.

 

"Dude, calm down! That's my roommate!"

 

The girl in the orange hoodie -- Pidge -- shot up as the guy above Lance loosened his grip with a nervous  _oopsie-daisy_ -esc smile. Wrench in hand and a blurred black smudge gracing her pale cheek, she rested her head in her hands for a moment, sighed, and then proceeded to stare down at Lance as he stared up at her.

 

"Ready to get up and put on some clothes on?" Pidge asked with a raised brow.

 

Lance, uninhibited by another person's body weight forcing him down, hooked his hand on his waist to hold his towel in place as he stood. This was a better introduction than he had anticipated.

 

"Yeah..." He slowly got to his feet, glaring at the bulldozer beside him before turning to face Pidge, cocking his head to the side, "Is this how you greet all your new roommates?" 

 

Pidge's arms fell and she smiled wildly.

 

"Considering you're my first roomie, I guess so. I would shake your hand, but--" She held up her left hand, its surface unevenly coated with a coal-like dust.

 

Lance instinctively flinched away, and Pidge let out a small laugh, a hand falling to her waist casually.

 

"I'm not going to pounce on you," The man that had actually pounced on him made a nervous noise from the door of the room, and Pidge turned her head to him with amusement curling her thin lips, "And neither will Hunk -- anymore, at least."

 

"Yeah, sorry about that -- _probably_ won't happen again, no promises though."

 

Lance squeezed his eyes into a small line, scrutinizing the just slightly larger man at his side -- Hunk. The look didn't last long under the brightness of Hunk's conciliatory smile, though, and he shifted his gaze back to Pidge who'd taken up residence on the plain bed across the room from Lance's, legs dangling over the edge.

 

Her choppy, messy hair flew in all directions around her face, bangs falling over her eyes like she didn't have the time to deal with them. But, Lance deduced, the disheveled look worked for the petite girl that probably barely even came up to his shoulders -- it complemented the excitement in her bright maple eyes. Leftover excitement for whatever she was doing that covered her in dark soot was probably all it was, but it was still present and it lit her up like the sun.

 

But, she was a girl. That problem needed to be addressed.

 

"I appreciate the non-promises of future violence, but your a girl and I'm a guy -- and this is my dorm room."

 

Pidge nodded slowly, raising a brow, "And this is my dorm room."

 

"But your a girl."

 

"Yeah, and your a guy. I think we've run through these facts enough at this point."

 

 "Pidge, I don't think this guy knows that this is the co-ed dorm room."

 

Hunk cut in, stepping into the room and closing the door. He made Lance's ignorance seem extremely idiotic and short-sighted with the look on his face that mirrored Pidge's. Lance had to admit that it was both, but he felt smothered in it with these two. He felt the playfulness of it all though, and it was nicer than anything he'd felt in a while -- it was soft and warm, the casual and comfortable atmosphere spread throughout the room. It had been a while since he'd experienced light-hearted teasing, but by reflex his retorts were locked and loaded.

 

"How was I supposed to know with the hundreds of options and first, second, third choices and it was too much, at some point you just have to click and scroll."

 

Hunk rolled his eyes and Pidge snorted, smiles on both their faces as Lance batted his hand in dismissal at all the work required to live on campus. Executive decision not to pulverize the mood with his real reason for skipping through the process -- depressed apathy.

 

"Well, now you know. If you don't want to hear the door being thrown open and shut at two in the morning or me hitting metal with metal throughout the night, might want to talk to someone about that."

 

Lance didn't want his sleep or studies interrupted by a tiny, noisy girl and her large, snarky companion. But, he didn't _not_ want the company, the filling noise, the soft-eyed Hunk's playful prodding at him and gentle smiling, Pidge's excitement and commitment to her work.

 

Of course, he couldn't help seeing in them what he couldn't see in himself -- couldn't _feel_ in himself. Their sense of belonging at Jarre, their sense of purpose. Their fulfillment on their paths towards their passions.

 

And it still stung a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading ! Stay tuned for some more angst followed by some positive fluff ✰ .


	2. Follow Through

Classes were terrible. But, Lance felt it was just his attitude oozing into everything he was supposed to be trying to embrace.

 

He was _trying_ to do better with that.

 

It was getting easier with his roommate and her friend, they livened his college life up immensely and got him out of his moping whenever they were around — talking about technical stuff and scientific pursuits he didn’t really care to know about but deeply appreciated in terms of just being able to hear happiness around him. Now was one of those times.

 

He’d recently gotten out of a two hour long lecture and opened up his dorm room to find Pidge on her computer desk straddling a cracked monitor with Hunk at the foot of her bed tinkering with a much smaller device. Pidge was ranting on about her brother’s “insufferable shadow programs” and Hunk mindlessly followed along. His head bobbed and he made a few sharp quips in response to her, but his attention was fixed on the tiny metal piece in his hand.

 

Lance took his time in groaning as he rolled out his shoulders and off his bag strap, dropping his small book bag on his bed before flopping down on the floor beside Hunk. 

 

Finally finding time in her monologue, Pidge looked up from the computer to Lance.

 

"Hey, Lance."

 

She spared a smile his way before refocusing on the back of the smooth grey of the monitor, derailing the previous conversation in response to the man's presence.

 

"Hunk was telling me earlier how he found a nice place to get some food over in Perseids, he was just about to go pick us up some. You want anything?"

 

There was an immediate recoil from Hunk as he shoved whatever he had to his lap and stared up at Pidge. 

 

"What? I don’t remember saying I would pick anything up! Yeah, I brought it up and I mentioned how the food was really good, because _it was_ ," a hand slowly reached to his cheek as he started to fondly reminisce about the place, "I mean, you couldn't ask for cheesy fries with a better cheese-to-fry ratio —“

 

"You know what I remember, Hunk?” Pidge rested her head on the top of the screen and smirked down at the spiraling man, "Me staying up until 3 helping you with your nanotech research. So would you be a dear?"

 

Hunk huffed, then let out a surrendering sigh as he rose from the floor. Lance was leaned back, amused enough just from watching the two when Hunk stretched a hand out to him.

 

"Wanna' come along? Might be better to choose for yourself when we get there — not that I don't have good taste, because I do."

 

He let a smile that was far too happy grow on his face as he took Hunk's hand and hoisted himself up.

 

"Sure man."

 

The two were already engaging in a separate conversation as they walked out the door before Pidge told them to not take forever, threw a card their way, and got back to messing around with whatever she was doing. It was a nice walk back to Perseids, which was the name of the huge shopping plaza building Lance had visited earlier in which he didn't really bother with remembering its complicated name in favor of moping. Between the comfortable silence that surrounded the two for most of the walk, Hunk would give small anecdotes about something he would randomly recall about Pidge, something they past by, and now that they were walking up to the building he nudged Lance softly, pulling Lance out of his own head for a moment. He hadn't been back to the building since, but looking at it now gave him a completely different feeling than the ominous atmosphere from before had. It was busy and loud, tons of people going in and out, littering around the edges on fancily styled benches, standing around talking in groups. It was lit up against the blue sky, tall but warm and welcoming. Lance could get used to coming here more often.

 

"It's on the second floor, it's called _Star Stop_. Someone high up really digs the space theme." Hunk chuckled as they entered, moving along the walls and avoiding the large groups of people swarming the center of the space. Walking along the fronts of all the shops, Lance could clearly view their intricate, colorful interiors and products, making note of a few of the nice looking clothing stores they passed before they got to the familiar flight of stairs, made a little less familiar by the liveliness of the people walking up and down it.

 

 They bypassed everyone on the stairs and made their way to the entrance of Star Stop. Lance couldn't help but look over his shoulder at the Black Lion Cafe that happened to be just across from this _Super Mega Awesome Food Shack_ , as Hunk called it. The fairy lights were still strung and much more dim when captured in the lights of the hall and all the shops surrounding it, but through the crystal display glass that covered the front of the cafe Shiro and the few other customers enjoying their feline-themed treats were clearly visible. He looked as pretty and warm as he had that early morning. Maybe Lance would stop by before he left the building. Maybe...

 

A sharp yank on Lance's arm jerking him into Star Stop pulled his eyes and body from the store behind them and through a myriad of strings that acted as a door to the snack and generally unhealthy food joint. Upon entering, the strong smell of spices and grease hit hard, halfway making Lance recoil from shock and halfway making him lunge forward to wherever the source was.

 

"Ah, the sweet smell of paprika and hot fries." Hunk spoke airily, closing his eyes momentarily and letting his nose lead him to the counter, Lance chuckling from beside him.

 

"You can smell all that?"

 

"I can smell good cooking from a mile away."

 

Hunk shifted his weight to the counter in front of him, a girl on the other side in front of the cash register beaming up at the two.

 

"Hello," She took a good look between the boys then trained her vision on Hunk, pointing to him enthusiastically with a smile still on her face as Hunk flinched, "You've come here before, right? _Jalapeño Wedge Special_?"

 

 Hunk nodded slowly, then with growing confidence as the girl's smile grew. Lance took a quick look down to see the sunny girl's name tag read  _Shay —_  kind of cute and fitting for her, with the neatly framing bob cut and wide grin she sported. He spaced out for most of the rest of their what he could only assume to be flirting as he looked around. It was a small place — only two tiny circle tables in between the counter and the door with an extra table right outside. There seemed to be some sort of rock or mountain theme going on inside because the colors were mostly greens and greys and there were model rock piles that held up items for display or that were clustered around the corners of basically everything. The special item in the case beside the register today was Crispy Churros, which Lance had half a mind to order until he shifted to his other foot, threw a hand in his pocket and peered over his shoulder — back towards the entrance and through the glass.

 

To the shop he went to once and to the passing boy he'd never seen before. Black hair, long hair. Pulled back with a grey jacket hanging down from his arms. A notebook nestled into his side. And he was gorgeous. At least, his side profile was gorgeous. For all Lance knew, he could have a foggy eye to match his.

 

 _But_ , he thought, too quick to catch his desperation, _wouldn’t that actually kind of be a great thing?_

 

By the time he had a churro stuck in his mouth and Hunk was leading him out of Star Stop while cheerily waving back to Shay, Lance had already given up on enjoying the delicious sugar crested treat or focusing on Hunk's company and instead was eyeballing the man who sat at one of the bar seats at the Black Lion, a laughing and smiling Shiro keeping him frequent company.

 

Boyfriends? Lance wouldn’t doubt it, they were both beautiful and —

 

“— at the Black Lion! We should go say hi!"

 

Lance started chocking on his churro as Hunk pulled him towards the café he was only planning on fantasizing about.

 

“W-what," Lance said in between wheezing out cinnamon, "Why are we going there?"

 

"I just said my friends are over there — one of them actually works there," Hunk laughed, pausing briefly to pat Lance on the back a few times, "Don’t worry, it’ll be quick."

 

Well, it was certainly one way to get back into The Black Lion, he probably wouldn’t go on his own without the emotional shit storm bogging him down enough to dampen his inhibitions.

 

Shiro and the chime from the door greeted them warmly, and Hunk didn’t shy away from spreading out his arms and tackling the man into a tight hug. There was an immediate discomfort on Shiro’s face, but he slowly warmed up to it and awkwardly reciprocated.

 

The guy from before, with the black hair and willowy body looked over at the scene Hunk was making out of squeezing the life out of Shiro. There was the notebook, splayed out in front of him with his hand poised over the page. With some shape forming at the tip of the lead.

 

Oh God, he was drawing.

 

Lance suddenly remembered the guy Shiro had talked about his first night at Jarre — the intriguing popular art guy from Altea. What was his name, had he said it? He didn’t think it could be possible to forget, but it had been ass early o’clock in the morning.

 

Lance stayed distanced from the situation and watched as Art Boy smiled, softly, at Hunk and Shiro.

 

And God, it was so pretty.

 

How lucky was Lance that there were _two_  drop-dead gorgeous guys fitting exactly _two_ of his very specific types gathered in front of him at the same spot.

 

Given his luck, they really would be taken.

 

But he had enough luck to meet all of these people, so he wasn’t completely void of hope.

 

Shiro glanced up, eyes glazed until a spark of rememberance lit them up. Hunk had released Shiro from his death grip to go and greet Art Boy and Shiro made his way over to Lance, an arm out for a much more comfortable half-hug.

 

”Lance, good to see you again!”

 

There was something really nice in how he said it, like he actually had missed him like an old friend — even though Lance knew it couldn’t be true, it felt good.

 

But then it suddenly struck him that these neither of the two pretty men had seen Lance’s weird eye. He tilted his head away from them jaggedly and very obviously before forcing his head to face the group again — smiling a tight, squinted smile.

 

”You too, I’d been waiting to come back and get some _Pride Rock_ Pizza ever since.”

 

The silver-haired man lifted a thick brow and crossed his arms in playful disapproval. 

 

“I have better names than _that_.”

 

Lance sent a complimentary wink and raised his hands in surrender.

 

”Sure, whatever you say.”

 

Hunk had already moved to sit beside Art Boy, looking between Lance and Shiro curiously before lifting his finger to gesture between the two.

 

”So... I’m guessing you two already know each other?”

 

A quick nod and a harshly summarized explanation was all Lance offered before he slid into the other empty seat beside Art Boy and not-so-stealthily devoured the open sketchbook with his eyes before turning his gaze upwards to meet cold lavender boring into his soul.

 

”Name’s Lance, are you the amazing Altean art guy Shiro kept going on about the first time I talked to him?”

 

Lance hadn’t expected the stone cold demeanor of the man to break down so easily, but it did. A cherry flush quickly consumed his cheeks and the tips of his ears as his head bolted to the side to glare at Shiro who chuckled as warmly as Lance could remember and simply shrugged, picking up a tall glass.

 

”I mean, you are kind of a big deal.”

 

Art Boy didn’t respond, just flipped his attention back to Lance who watched as he built back up his calm before saying, “Keith,” and immediately resumed drawing. Lance couldn’t help being scared and intimidated by the guy despite him transforming into a cute tomato a second ago — there were too many reasons Lance could be disliked but many more reasons he’d want to get close with this guy. He decided to turn back to Shiro who was standing across the bar and tune in on his conversation with Hunk, sneaking glances at Keith’s sketchbook when he was sure Keith wouldn’t notice. 

 

He didn’t have a weirdo eye — his eyes were perfect, like everything about him aside from his attitude, apparently. It wasn’t strange, whenever anyone could shape something from reality onto paper Lance fell into a state of awe, wanted to know everything about them and their art. This was no difference other than Lance had an intense attraction to the man, too.

 

Lance tormented himself inwardly as his eyes continued to trail up to the eyes of the man beside him, wondering if he’d already pissed him off somehow and finding it harder and harder to think Keith was single with how wonderfully he was sketching Shiro.

 

He let out a soft sigh before reengaging in the conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written too quickly to be good , but I might edit later when I heal from my wisdom teeth surgery . We’ll get deeper into Keith next chapter .


	3. Spicy Chicken

He let the blankets fall from his shoulders as his pale hand worked across the page. It was quickly getting frustrating that all his inspiration had vanished. Being with Shiro at the Black Lion — surrounded by everyone while being undeniably separate — had always flipped a switch inside him, it never failed to bring him back to the comfort of his mind and thus his art. But he felt...

 

He didn't know how he felt.

 

He felt like the Gods or aliens up in space were plotting against him, as they often did.

 

The sketchbook fell to his lap as he leaned back against the wall of his room and let the pencil droop limp in his hand. He stared up at the ceiling, decorated in little stars because Shiro thought Keith would like the childish, simple decorations put up there for his birthday. He did like them, but that was besides the point.

 

To say that his mood was trashy was putting it far too lightly. His head was jumbled up in a mess, and he hated it.

 

Keith's eyebrows furrowed and he balled up his fist, trying and failing to control his anger. His sketchbook was across the room on the floor and his pencil scraped against a wall and fell to the ground before he could breathe out.

 

"Goddamit."

 

He sat back down on his bed, gripping the mattress from over the sheets harshly as he stared down at his feet for a second, then lifted his head to the empty square canvas he had prepped for an assignment he needed to finish before the week was up — the assignment he was attempting to draft for before he'd used his art materials as stress relief.

 

He bent down and pulled it to his knees from it's perch on his nightstand.

 

He didn't feel inspired. But, he saw something appear on the canvas in a flash of thought. Something, something...

 

Keith threw himself to his closet, grabbing his water cup and paints before diving into the canvas, hunched over it on the bedsheets. He'd thrown a quarter drunken bottle of water into the process, didn't put too much effort into cleaning out and prepping his brushes, it wasn't a comfortable position he'd chosen to paint in, and he didn't feel touched by an inner drive like he was supposed to. There was something though, and he worked with it.

 

Whatever it was, if it ended up being terrible Keith still had time to go out and buy another canvas and make something decent before the work was due.

 

 --------------------

 

When he was done, he immediately recognized the color scheme and rough outlining with pen that the picture added up to. It turned out fairly good — he needed to go over some areas with the pen again and needed to add some other small details that would polish the piece more, but it came out well. It was pretty, and it was that boy from Shiro's shop — the one with the dark skin and bright blue eyes.

 

Keith had never even accidentally tapped his brush against the light blue shade he used to accent the painting he'd just made, and the brown, though used, wasn't too far off from uselessness either. It was refreshing drawing something as strange and foreign to Keith's normal art patterns and style as this was.

 

And the more he looked at it, the more he liked it.

 

That was an anomaly.

 

The idea of editing what was there started to reshape in his head and he lifted the canvas back to the his nightstand, clearing the pill bottles and empty cans from the surface so it could take up the space comfortably.

 

The idea of some stranger taking up creative space in Keith's mind was somewhat annoying, but he had something down so he couldn't complain.

 

Shiro knocked on the room door and opened it a moment later with a prompt from Keith, looking to the bed the struggling artist sat perched on facing his nightstand. Shiro had a single oven mit on, the smell of spice and chicken wafting in through the open door.

 

“Hey, food’s ready.”

 

Keith stood from his bed and arched his back, rolled out his shoulders and groaned before taking a last glance at the colored canvas.

 

“Alright, I’m coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tini chapter , Klance interactions to come .


End file.
